Phoebe Delia - Tumblr Posts

I love this piece so much! The writing style is so unique and allows such depth of perspective :)

fight just a little to bring back the fire in my eyes

CW: vague references to suicidal thoughts, depression/mental illness. Based on "She Used To Be Mine" from the musical Waitress.

I gave out pieces of myself like candy, after the war. I did before it, too, and during, if I'm honest with myself. But it got worse, somehow, even after I proved to be the hero they demanded, the savior I needed to be.

But it wasn't enough. People want to be saved from more than dangers outside their own control. They want to be saved from the dirty work of confronting their own prejudice, of the struggle of reckoning with trauma from battle. And just because my entire life has put me through a crucible of one soul-wrenching struggle after another doesn't mean I want or need to do that for anyone else anymore.

I look in the mirror and see a twenty-three-year-old man, and while I am hardened and calloused and scarred and used, I am in so many ways still eleven years old and reckoning with the fact that there are other "freaks" and "degenerates" like me in the world. I don't know why I feel like I still need to earn my place here, to be worthy of this home away from the Dursleys. Maybe if I'm useful enough strong enough powerful enough willing enough enough enough enough—they won't send me back.

I still can't believe you are now on the very short list of people I've met to tell me that I don't have to be anything else; with a full household of their own, the Weasleys did more than enough to nurture and love me, but I let myself slip through the cracks, to not be needy, to eat and smile, and to accept and return their love whenever it was given.

But despite Molly and Arthur's best efforts, I didn't have parents to tell me that I was special no matter what. So I guess I'm glad one of us, at least, had one parent alive and willing to teach us that we reach the minimum requirement for love just by breathing.

You're not my father. You're not my mind healer. You're my boyfriend, and I'm sorry if there are times that I make you feel like your job is bigger than that. I know, you'd tell me that I'm not a burden, and I'm starting to realize that, but Draco I don't expect you to carry my burdens for me. I will go to you with my problems, as I hope you still do with me, but I don't need you to do more than love me, as you do.

You're enough, too.

Enough to love me in a way that still takes my breath away, and enough to receive it in return. Enough to be one of the people in my life who make it all worth it, to be worth fighting for. Worth saving, and saving myself for.

I save myself for, well, me. But also for you. And Ron and Hermione, and the Weasleys, and Teddy and Andromeda, for my parents. I save myself every day, and I think that, alone, is all the heroism I need.

It's enough, for me.

Phoebe!! Would you do Blank Space by Taylor Swift? 💞💞💞

@colormehazelnut Hazel, it would be my pleasure!! Thank you for sending in these prompts. This is something I've been sort of mulling over in the back of my mind for a while.

“I make six figures,” Jason said, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “My boss says I’m an ‘up-and-comer.’”

Draco looked at Jason underneath his lashes, “Does he, now?”

Jason nodded solemnly. “Oh yeah, Dad’s really encouraging.”

“How wonderful,” Draco said, lifting a finger to lightly trace over Jason’s hand where it rested on the table and suppressing a smirk when he saw Jason shift in his seat. “You’ve such an important career; how does a man as successful as you stay so humble?”

Jason grinned, shrugging. “Comes naturally, I guess.”

“Wow,” Draco breathed. “You’re not like anyone I’ve met before.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Jason winked, and Draco forced a giggle, watching Jason’s eyes flash in excitement.

Jason was Lucius’s seventh attempt in his crusade to see Draco married and settled with a pureblood by the time he was 26. The first couple of blind dates had left Draco “outraged and disgusted,” as he’d complained to Pansy over the Floo. “Father won’t see reason. Merlin, it’s torture.”

Pansy’s mouth had twisted into a smirk. “Well, it doesn’t have to be.”

Draco’d furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“There are only so many eligible, gay, Pureblood men in Britain,” Pansy’d grinned. “Your father wants you to date these idiots to maintain your reputation. What if you make sure there’s no more reputation to uphold—one man at a time?”

After that, Draco found himself looking forward to these new dates. The arrogant, unsuspecting men would sit across from him, play footsie under the table, talk on and on about their money, and leer at him all the while. And Draco let them with a placid smile on his face.

But Michael, poor bloke, had run screaming from the Manor as Draco’d thrown the prat’s clothes out the window with a hearty Incendio. It was the only proper response to Michael’s derision of Draco’s “poncy outfits.”

And Jake—or was it Blake? Draco could never remember, much to Jake-Blake’s annoyance—had nearly cried when Draco’s taken a golf club to his precious Aston Martin. But he should’ve thought of that before insulting Draco’s golf swing.

Then there was Bret, who’d spent so much time on his mobile, texting Merlin knew how many other men, that Draco thought that the fish in the pond at the Manor might enjoy the device, too, since Bret shared their intelligence.

Now, Jason prattled on and on about his family’s “gorgeous, but understaffed house by the lake” and how the food at the restaurant was “palatable, but not as good as in Paris, have you ever been?”

Draco blinked wide, innocent eyes. “To Paris? Oh, no. I’ve never been. Maybe you could show me around? I’d need someone capable to keep me from getting lost.”

Jason smirked. “Of course, baby, I’d take good care of you.”

Draco let a slow, sultry smile stretch across his face. Yes, this was going to be fun.

__

“C’mon, baby, just tell me what’s wrong,” the man jutted out his lip into a pout.

Draco gave him a coy smile. “Who said anything was wrong?”

Suddenly, he felt a warm hand cover his thigh and a mouth close to his ear. “Hmm, a cutie like you here all alone? That can’t mean anything good.”

Draco held his breath. Three...Two...One…

The body next to him was suddenly knocked aside, and Draco looked up to see Jason, his eyes burning.

“Draco, what the hell!”

“Don’t you ‘Draco’ me, Jason!” He snapped. “While you were busy doing Merlin knows what—or who—in the loo for nearly thirty minutes, this bloke was keeping me company. If you don’t want me, you can just say so!”

Jason looked shocked. “Thirty minutes—I can’t have been gone for more than five!”

“Whatever it was, it was long enough for me to grow suspicious!”

“If you were so worried, why didn’t you go to the loo and see for yourself?”

“Because I, for one, didn’t want to see my fiancé fucking another bloke right in front of me!”

“Fiancé?!” Jason and the stranger said simultaneously, their expressions astonished.

Draco gasped sharply. “Are you seriously acting as if you never proposed to me?!”

“If I did I think I’d have remembered!”

“Wow!” Draco shook his head. “I knew you could be oblivious, but forgetting the best day of our lives is a new low, Jason.”

“But–you’re not even wearing a ring!”

“We said we’d get it in Paris!” Draco made his eyes well with practiced tears. “You said you wanted it to be perfect. ‘Only the best for my Draco, the love of my life!’ You said that, and I can see now that you didn’t mean it.”

He hopped off the stool striding out of the bar. He turned his head to see Jason staring at him, slackjawed.

Draco let one tear spill down his cheek. “Don’t contact me. Goodbye, Jacob.”

As he left the bar, he heard an incredulous, “IT’S JASON!!”

__

“No, no, we asked for the ‘74 Le Vu, not the ‘87 Le Fite,” Xavier scowled. He plucked the glass from Draco’s fingers and handed it and his own to the server. “Fix it,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Draco chanced a sympathetic look at the waiter, whose blank expression revealed that he had the patience of someone with years in the restaurant industry. “Yes, sir, my mistake. I apologize. One moment.” He turned on a heel, taking the rejected wine and used glasses and disappearing into the sea of tables.

“Honestly,” Xavier scoffed. “It’s impossible to get good service nowadays.”

Draco hummed in false assent. “That must be so taxing for you.”

Xavier sighed. “It’s just frustrating. You know, when I dine out, I expect a certain level of attendance from the waitstaff. I work hard for my money. I don’t need the added stress of an incompetent server who can’t do the simplest tasks,” he said, shaking his head.

“I know!” Draco exclaimed waving his hands wildly. “It’s insanity!” He said, making his gesture wider—just a bit more, and, “People can be so lazy!” He flung his arms almost across the table, finally knocking a glass of ice water into Xavier’s lap.

“Shit!” Xavier jumped from his seat, grabbing his napkin and drying his pants.

Draco let his lip wobble. “I-I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever, you idiot,” Xavier snapped.

Draco gasped loudly and rose from his seat, drawing eyes to their table. Perfect. “What did you just say??”

Xavier looked at him strangely. “I said ‘whatever.’”

Draco threw down his napkin. “Did you just call me an idiot?”

“What—no! I-”

“You’re a pig!” Draco reached over and slapped Xavier. A few scattered gasps rose from the other guests.

Their waiter came rushing over. “Is everything alright over here?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “I was just going.” He turned and stormed off, leaving behind a sputtering Xavier.

__

The date with Louis lasted all of twenty minutes before Draco’d had enough.

He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t attend one more dinner with a man who looked at him like a pile of money or a piece of meat. He couldn’t flutter his eyelashes or give mechanical kisses or play dumb any longer.

He refused—Father and his inheritance be damned.

It was cowardly, he knew, leaving while John was in the restroom. But he didn’t have it in him to finish the dinner, nor to make a scene and cry and shout. And with the way Louis went on and on about how “the new Ministry is going to ruin this country,” Draco had a feeling it wasn’t going to work out, anyway.

He stepped out onto the street and raised his wand, feeling the familiar tug of Apparition take him to the apparition point closest to Muggle London. He walked along the cobblestone pathway in peace, taking in the sights of the city.

For the first time in months, Draco felt real, hot tears rise unbidden in his eyes. He didn’t bother to wipe them away, letting them cloud his vision. It was nice for a moment, allowing the world to go a bit fuzzy, until he tripped on an uneven cobblestone and fell to the ground.

His palms and knees stung from the impact, but he managed to keep from banging his head. He started to move to get up, despite his protesting knees, when a hand came into his vision, reaching down in front of him.

He took it, letting it gently pull him to his feet and causing his eyes to meet warm green ones that caused his heart to stutter.

“Malfoy—are you alright?” Potter said gently, taking in Draco’s red-rimmed eyes and cheeks.

Draco sniffed, willing his voice to stay even when he responded, “I’m fine, Potter. Just a rough evening. Thank you. Sorry to bother you.”

He turned to step past him when a firm hand clasped his arm.

“Wait, I–” Potter flushed lightly. “I want to talk to you.”

Draco narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What are you playing at, Potter?” He said, a slight bite to his tone. “What game is this?”

Potter held up his hands. “No game, I swear. I just want to catch up.”

Draco studied Potter for a moment, taking in the earnest eyes and the beginning of a small, hopeful grin, and allowed himself the first genuine smile he could remember in weeks.

Yes, this was going to be fun.

I have a playlist of my 99 most listened-to songs of the year so far. Check my pinned post, pick a number 1--99, and send me an ask and I'll write you a fic based on the song that matches with that number on my list!

@phoebe-delia y'all!!!!

Firstly thanks for giving out this long advice even though you didn't have to. It's one of the many things I like about you.

But mostly the thing is no matter what, I truly admire you. I've read works throughout life, many different writers, many different people but yours turns out to be the one that always leaves me at the edge of my seat which is something entirely unique about you. To bring out something like that in almost every writing, it's as unbelievable as it can be.

Ps. I'm gonna follow every word of it though but I'll never quite be able to write half as good as you 😭

Okay! So, the incredibly kind @sorry-i-ship-drarry left me a lovely comment:

It was on this fic, for anyone wondering. The reason I am calling attention to it now is that they confirmed that it was both a sweet compliment and a genuine question. And while I don't usually consider myself one to be giving writing advice, I wanted to oblige as best I could!

First of all, part of the reason why this fic is, to use your word, "intriguing" is because of the song that inspired it. The song ("cowboy like me" by Taylor Swift) is about two people who go through meaningless relationships, in pursuit of some other goal; they get together, and the speaker/protagonist ends up heartbroken.

Second, and this is sort of a side note: sometimes it's fun to write kinda unrealistically "cool" characters. Neither Harry nor Draco would likely be as smooth, witty, and—well—cool if they were real. There are times that I love to write them as awkward, or just more realized humans. But it's also really fun to read and write characters who always have the comeback/insult at the tip of their tongue—and while it's entertaining to watch Draco outwit Harry and leave him flustered, I love getting to explore them being evenly matched in this regard. I love Harry being disarmingly honest, and just a bit too on-the-nose in his observations of Draco, and vice versa. (One of my personal favorite dialogues of mine is in Ch. 2 of the Infinity series. I loved getting to write their back-and-forth, and I think this kind of writing is a great tool for when you want characters to either be extremely cagey or shockingly honest, because either way they need the exact right words.)

I wanted to write to it because it lends itself easily to one iteration of a Drarry dynamic that I love to play with: ex-enemies with benefits who are in denial and have too much pride to ask for what they really want. I imagined Harry, here, actually sort of learning from Draco that aloof and cold was the way to emotional self-protection. His initial proposition that they "work together" is brutally rebuffed by Draco, and then later on we see Draco feel insulted by Harry's agreeing with Draco's sentiment.

Now for the writing style. I find that I sometimes do my most "intriguing" writing in first person, because it allows me to present a contrast between what the character says and what they think, if there is one. There are some times I'll write a fic in first person and then switch it to third person so it captures the tone I want but isn't in first person if that's not how I see the story.

Here's the key, and what I think makes this story "intriguing." Sometimes I think it's fun to write a story by having the character tell it in their own voice, on a linear timeline, but still clearly retrospective. The entire time you (the audience) are reading it, you already have a sense of how the story is going to end, or at least how the character/narrator feels about the ending, but you're sort of wondering how they get there.

The Draco narrating this story is the one we see at the end; he's reflecting on the trajectory of his and Harry's fling. He's a bit heartbroken, sort of pining, a little bitter and resentful. He's also going over the events in his mind, trying to parse where he went wrong, and how he ended up feeling this way.

The first time it happened, I could chalk it up to coincidence.

That we'd both be at the same gala, drinking the same cheap rose and plastering the same false smiles on our faces, stealing secret scowls at one another—it had to be the worst kind of serendipity, a karmic irony.

Interestingly, I remember that I wrote the ending line—"You slip out the door, the hinges closing so softly it might as well have been the wind"—shortly after I'd started writing the beginning of the fic. I filled out the story in the middle. That often happens with me in these shorter drabble-y fics.

My point is—sometimes intrigue is about kind of giving away the end at the beginning. Because the fun is in seeing how the beginning came to be.